


From What I’ve Tasted of Desire

by amyfortuna



Series: 2015 Season of Kink (Card 1) [21]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angry Making Out, M/M, Snow, Temperature Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 15:18:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4881745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finrod surprises Caranthir in more ways than one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From What I’ve Tasted of Desire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> This fulfils my Season of Kink square for temperature play. Thanks to theomniscientsociety for the great prompt!
> 
> The title is from 'Fire And Ice' by Robert Frost.

"So hot-tempered, cousin," Finrod said, stepping out from around the corner as Caranthir exited the building, slamming the heavy door behind him. "Your blood will get you in trouble one day, make no mistake." It was the first winter since Maedhros' return and Fingolfin's ascension to the High Kingship, and Caranthir felt as though he was in a state of constant fury at everyone who was not a Feanorian, and some who were. 

Caranthir turned, glaring at Finrod, who stood in the sunlight, golden hair flowing down his back, one foot up on the low stone wall beside the path. He was a figure of breathtaking beauty, and knew it a little too well, had probably positioned himself to contrast nicely with the snow that lay on the ground nearby, and present the most dramatic pose. 

"Your vanity will be _your_ downfall, cousin," Caranthir spat, wanting nothing more than to wash Finrod's face in the snow, see if he could wipe off that smug look. 

"Oh, I think not," Finrod said with a casual smile that was like a match to Caranthir's flame. "No, I think, my courage and boldness, my unyielding will, my grace and prowess, will probably prove my fate." He flicked his hair back with a grin. "I'll be led into a situation where I am overpowered, I'll slay my enemy and in doing so be slain, probably in defence of some innocent life - yes, some poor soul will owe their life to me and will go on to do great things for my sake." He gave Caranthir a smirk and a wink, and suddenly Caranthir had borne all he could bear. 

"Shut up, you pompous peacock!" he growled and launched himself at Finrod, tumbling him back into the snow. 

It was cold, and Caranthir realised after a moment that he had yelped in surprise at just how cold it was, but Finrod was laughing. It was about six inches deep and soft, new-fallen just last night, and Finrod was grinning at being in it, rolling over with Caranthir, climbing atop him, snow in his hands, all over his clothes, clinging to his hair. 

How had Finrod gained the upper hand? Far from being able to wash his face in it, Caranthir was staring up at Finrod above him, straddling his hips. He felt hot and cold at the same time, his cock stirring to life under Finrod's wriggling, face flushed and burning, but cold beneath his head, under his arse. 

"You need to cool off, cousin," Finrod said, still laughing, and gathered up a handful of snow. "But where shall I put this - on your flushed face, or down your breeches?" He wriggled again, moving his hips very deliberately, and if anything Caranthir got redder and harder, thrusting his hips up against Finrod, not caring that he was now basically just rubbing off on his cousin in full public view (although no one was in sight). 

Finrod settled for pressing the snow together into a small ball, and running it over Caranthir's flushed cheeks. It melted quickly against his hot skin, and droplets slid down his face and throat as he half struggled to get out from under Finrod and half tried to get closer to him. 

Looking down at him with a queer glint in his eye, Finrod bent, and licked up the droplets of water sliding down his face. The touch of Finrod's warm tongue against his throat caused Caranthir to make a strangled noise of delight and nearly come in his breeches. Finrod's hair was falling all around them, golden in the morning sun, radiant and beautiful. 

And then Finrod kissed him. At some point, snow had apparently made its way into their mouths, for both their lips were cold. But the tongue that pressed into Caranthir's mouth was hot, and sent fire through his body, almost to the breaking point. He groaned into Finrod's mouth and could feel Finrod smile against his. "Is this not better than taking your rage out on Maitimo? Spend it on me, I can match you with it." He nipped lightly at Caranthir's throat, then harder, and Caranthir yelped. "I have anger of my own to burn out, and if you would like to see it, you need only ask why cold such as this snow is nothing to me." 

Caranthir's lips tightened. That was a question he didn't need to ask to know the answer to. Finrod looked down at him for a moment, then shook his head, and moved back, standing up. He pulled Caranthir to his feet with him. 

"Come," Finrod said. "We'll go to my rooms, and you can tell me of your quarrel with Maitimo, and I'll explain in great detail all the horrors of the Helcaraxë, and then we'll probably mutually destroy my bed, but at least we'll both be more at peace for it."

"Well, we'll at least be warmer," Caranthir said, taking Finrod's hand. If the flush was back on his cheeks, Finrod said no word of it, only smiled, and turned toward his lodgings.


End file.
